I was actually
nettled to think that my judgment was so short-sighted as to buy
anything that would depreciate in value.
My brother arrived and reported splendid success in feeding Colorado
cattle. He was anxious to have me join forces with him and corn-feed
an increased number of beeves the coming winter on his Missouri farm.
My judgment hardly approved of the venture, but when he urged a
promised visit of our parents to his home, I consented and agreed
to furnish the cattle. He also encouraged me to bring as many as my
capital would admit of, assuring me that I would find a ready sale for
any surplus among his neighbors. My brother returned to Missouri, and
I took the train for Ellsworth, where I bought a carload of picked
cow-horses, shipping them to Kit Carson, Colorado. From there I
drifted into the Fountain valley at the base of the mountains, where
I made a trade for seven hundred native steers, three and four years
old. They were fine cattle, nearly all reds and roans. While I was
gathering them a number of amusing incidents occurred. The round-ups
carried us down on to the main Arkansas River, and in passing Pueblo
we discovered a number of range cattle impounded in the town. I cannot
give it as a fact, but the supposition among the cowmen was that the
object of the officials was to raise some revenue by distressing the
cattle. The result was that an outfit of men rode into the village
during the night, tore down the pound, and turned the cattle back on
the prairie.
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